


Saccharine

by pseudocitrus



Series: Sweet [3]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Blood, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut, Touken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2252262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is it, this is what she’s been wanting — right? She pauses just a moment, savoring the incredible latte foam softness of his kiss. Until that moment she can believe this is all she wanted, all her hunger wanted. But rather than quelling, it roars even louder in her ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place at some point before the Aogiri arc. For all intents and purposes it also occurs after my other fic "[Sweet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2064081)," but i didn’t want to ruin the nice innocent one-shotness of it, so this is its own separate thing shrug shrug.
> 
> ....Hope you enjoy!  (◡‿◡✿)

The taste of him stays long after they depart — drops into the pit of her belly, saturates every vein. As she pours foam into a cup, Kaneki enters and her hand twitches, and suddenly the rabbit she’s forming has a much larger forehead than can reasonably called cute. She grimaces.

“Good morning, Touka-chan,” Kaneki says, sounding pretty normal, and Touka sighs.

“Yeah. Morning.” She pokes at the rabbit’s head, trying to press it down. Kaneki must sense something off because he peers over the counter, tilts his head.

“It sucks,” she sighs.

“It doesn’t! It’s great. Look.” He grabs a spoon and uses the end of it to tease the darker-hued foam across the rabbit’s face.

“Tada,” he says, lifting the spoon away with a flourish.

“What the hell? What did you do?” She rotates the cup, eyes narrow.

“Oh, sorry, I thought...um, I guess it isn’t obvious. It’s, uh, you.”

 _“Me?_ ”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be your...” He reaches toward her — then stops, his hand hovering in front of the hair that falls over her eye. As she stares, his fingers curl and then drop to his side.

“Your bangs,” he concludes.

Her mouth purses. She looks down at the rabbit.

“Latte!” she announces, so loudly Kaneki winces. When the customer comes up to retrieve her drink, Touka slides it toward her and asks, “Hey. Do you think this looks like me?”

The woman looks down at the cup — then at her — then back, and forth again. “There is something of a resemblance,” she says, smiling, and Kaneki laughs.

“See? Told you!” he says, and Touka frowns as she lets the woman take the cup back to her table, fighting the urge to keep it for herself and make the woman a new one.

“Yeah, yeah. Focus on improving your own latte art,” Touka mutters, feigning annoyance, and when Kaneki comes behind the counter, she shoves him playfully with her shoulder.

“Oof.” He glances over at her, and their eyes meet, stop, stick. She purses her lips, moistens them.

 _Lean in,_ she thinks. _Or wait — let him lean in?_

He turns away. Her lips thin even tighter and she turns back to the espresso machine.

_Stupid Kaneki._

They had left off with strange airs the other day. She tightens her fist, still feeling in her palms the sharp bite of gravel, and the harsh drum of his pulse.

:::

_She kisses him and he leans in toward her, stealing her breath, filling her with warmth. Her wing flares in time with her quickening pulse, sputtering crimson and violet and gold against the ground. He pushes against her and she pulls him toward her and her back presses into a column._

_The strange thing that’s been lying coiled up in the pit of her belly begins to unwind, and seep, and take control of her muscles. She spreads her legs, knees bent, ignoring the protests of the one she banged against the ground. It allows her to drag him closer, closer, and she feels him gasp against her mouth as he loses balance, as his weight settles a little too hard against her. She flicks her tongue against his parted lips, oh, they’re so tender, she slides her tongue between his teeth, searching for his, and when she finds it, all warm and soft, she can’t help a happy sigh._

_This is it, this is what she’s been wanting — right? She pauses just a moment, savoring Kaneki’s saliva in her mouth, the incredible latte foam softness of his kiss. Until that moment she can believe this is all she wanted, all her hunger wanted. But rather than quelling, it roars even louder in her ears._

_She meets his eyes, watching her with unbelievable focus, the same knife-sharp concentration in the chapel that had cut straight into her heart. For the first time, her mind had gone side-by-side with his; she’d met him somewhere where he wasn’t the apprehensive, apologetic Kaneki that she was usually rolling her eyes at. She had met him somewhere beyond himself and she had felt herself rising far away from her usual self too, into something better. For the first time felt like she could fly._

There! That! _Her hunger sings in her veins._ That’s it, that’s what I want, that’s what I want, I want that, I want, I —

_“Kaneki,” she sighs, and, as naturally as in the chapel, she raises her fingers to the edge of his shirt, pushes it up and off his skin —_

_And he freezes._

_“What?” she gasps, and he straightens, away from her. He turns, hand on his face. The ink of his eye is retreating back to his iris._

_“Let me help you up,” he says, holding out a hand. Her hunger is so swollen that it shoves out any thoughts she might use to form arguments, or questions, or pleads. Finally, at loss, she takes his hand, and when he heaves her up, the moment has passed. Her wing fades; her RC cells are depleted, and there’s no more excuse to practice._

_He asks her a question about Hinami as they continue walking her home, and she answers, and they go on like that all the way back._

:::

The following days are punctuated with countless moments of strangeness — times when their arms brushing ruins conversation, when something he says makes her burst out in laughter that’s startling in both its sincerity and volume. Sometimes when he glances over at her they’re both surprised to realize she’s been staring at him.

“Onee-chan? Are you alright?” Hinami asks tentatively, and Touka shoves the fridge door shut and says, “Yeah. Why?”

“It’s just...that’s the third time you’ve opened the fridge,” she says. “And there’s still nothing in it. Should we...visit Anteiku and get more...?”

“No,” Touka sighs, “I’m fine.”

“You’re really looking down,” Nishio remarks later that day at the Anteiku counter, and she lifts her head to level a single-eyed glare at him. It’s the first time she’s seen him since the chapel and behind him she can see the human she spared, setting her bags down beneath a table.

“What do you want?” she asks flatly. She means _What are you doing here_ , but he doesn’t bite.

“An americano,” he says, “and a mocha. For her.”

“Obviously it’s for her.” Touka glances over his shoulder and the human raises her hand to wave brightly, bracelets glinting.

Kaneki is in the back so she makes the drinks herself, starting with the mocha. Nishio watches her do it.

“Hey,” he says, squinting over the counter, “what’s that? Is that the — the cho-co-late?”

“It’s a mocha, so yeah, this is the chocolate syrup.”

“Is that all you’re gonna put in there? Use some more.”

“More? How much more?”

“How should I know?” he snaps in annoyance. “Kimi just said she likes that stuff.”

“Kimi? Oh, the human.”

“Nishino Kimi. My _girlfriend_.”

“Nishino? Really?” she mutters as she hammers the syrup head down a couple more times. “Nishiki Nishio and Nishino Kimi? Nishi, nishi, nishi. Who else would match with you? Now I know why you wanted so bad to save her.”

“Whatever.” He adjusts his glasses and raps his fingers on the counter.

“Anyway,” he huffs, “speaking of saving her. I’m actually here to thank you for not killing her, I guess.”

Touka rolls her eyes. “Did she tell you to do that?”

“No,” he says sharply. “She doesn’t believe you would have really done it.”

_Her eyes so wide, and red as they reflected the bursts of her wing._

_“How beautiful.”_

Touka looks back again at the human, who is sitting at the table, watching the two of them. She smiles at Touka and pushes her hair behind her ears. She looks like any other girl. Certainly not one that can destroy everything Touka knows and holds dear with a single slipped word.

 _“How beautiful._ ”

 _”I don’t think she was just trying to save herself,”_ Kaneki had said afterward.

_Then what, Kaneki? What do you think? Do you also think that I…?_

Touka sighs. “Well, I might have left her alone, but good luck keeping someone like that safe from other ghouls. She’s just inviting trouble.”

Nishio snorts. “Look who’s talking.”

Touka bristles. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Touka. The only reason Kimi got wrapped into all of this was because of Kaneki.”

“That’s not true,” Touka snaps, and Nishio grins.

 _Dammit,_ she hisses at herself. He knows he’s hit a nerve. He leans in, voice low.

“You think Kimi’s the troublesome one? Who’s the one who sparked that Gourmet’s interest in the first place? If Kaneki wasn’t here, we would have been just fine.”

This time she knows better than to respond. But there’s a cool aggression to the way she shakes the can of whipped cream, and the white mountain that she spirals onto Kimi’s mocha is spiked threateningly.

“He must have tasted _really_ good for that Gourmet to be so obsessed,” Nishio continues. “How long until someone else comes for that half-human?”

_The sight of her father’s retreating back._

_The uneven weight of Ayato on her back, legs swinging limply at either side, his shoes scraping her legs with mud as she carries him._

Touka feels her chest constrict and makes herself take a deep breath.

“Doesn’t matter,” she hears herself say as she fiddles with the machine to make it pour out an americano. “In case you haven’t noticed, Kaneki is becoming pretty good at defending himself.”

“Oh, yeah. The great Touka-sama has been teaching him, after all. By the way, Touka-sama, does a half-human taste as good as a whole one?”

“Don’t bother wondering about it. It’s something you’ll never know so long as I’m alive,” she tells him coldly.

“Oh, don’t worry about _me_ coming after him. I don’t have any interest in the taste of a half-human like that,” he says. And then, he glances back toward Kimi.

Wait — why? Why did he look back at her? Touka stares, aghast, and the americano almost overflows. He isn’t…he isn’t possibly…

“Nishio, you —“

“Hmm? What?”

“Y-you’re — you’re not possibly eating your _own_ —?”

“My own...?” And then the color flees his face. “You can’t be asking if I’m _actually_ — to _Kimi_ , of all — of course I’m not — I wouldn’t even consider — Touka, what the _hell_?”

Now she feels foolish. “Well, how the hell am I supposed to know?! You looked back at her, what else could you mean?”

The drinks are finished. Touka hands them over but Nishio’s disgust has faded away into a wicked humor, and he’s laughing too hard to take his order away.

“Y-you — you really don’t know what I mean, do you?” He’s lifting up his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Know what?” Touka demands.

“Ah, my bad, my bad, I just assumed I guess, that you and Kaneki...after how he let you bite him...”

 _”What_ did you assume?”

“Who knew that high-and-mighty Touka-sama was so innocent?”

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to throw these drinks in your face! See if Nishinishi over there still likes chocolate then!”

“Don’t worry, little Touka-chama, I’ll tell you. Let’s...let’s just say that there’s lots of ways to eat humans. And,” he adds, bending to whisper close to her ear, “if you do it the right way...humans _love_ being eaten.”

If Touka was aghast before, it’s nothing compared to the chilly horror that crawls down her spine at Nishio’s triumphant, lecherous smirk. He jams his glasses back onto his face and takes the drinks, one plate per hand.

“I was going to tell Kaneki my thanks for helping Kimi too,” he says, “but something tells me that you’ll be able to pass it along for me later, right?”

She’s too stunned to come up with anything witty before Nishio joins Kimi at the table.

“Touka-chan?” she hears behind her. “Is everything alright out here? It didn’t get busy all of a sudden, did it?”

As Kaneki reemerges, wiping his hands on a towel, she winces, then shudders. There are no breezes but the smell of him, strong and too-cozy, reaches her unavoidably, and seems to fill the whole room. If Touka was horrified before, it’s nothing compared to how appalled she is when the glacier sliding down her spine suddenly fractures into a fuzzy heat that reaches all the way to her fingertips and toes. She makes herself look at him and can feel her whole body is red.

 _“If you do it the right way...humans_ love _being eaten.”_

Kaneki smiles uncertainly. “Something the matter?”

“N-nothing! Totally nothing!”

He purses his lips. He moves closer. Touka swallows.

“Hey, Kaneki,” she blurts. “Maybe later — would you like to —“

She’s cut off by a shriek. Both of their heads spin toward the origin of the sound. It’s Kimi, who has just spat out her drink, and quick as anything Kaneki has a moist towel and extra napkins and is heading towards her.

“It’s alright, he assures her, “please don’t worry, it’s fine —“

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Kimi gasps, wiping her mouth. “It was — it was just so — _sweet_!”

Touka grumbles and starts to make her another.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ thanks goes to fangirlingforeverz for letting me use a headcanon of hers in here!! tbh though you should really just thank her for the whole thing since inserted the original premise into my brain in the first place lolz  
> \+ my playlist for this was “Songs To Break Up To” by TA-KU and wow i could never have imagined the whole frikken series would end before i finished this T_T  
> \+ hope you like it!

 

 _“If you do it the right way...humans_ love _being eaten.”_

Nishio’s teasing aside, she isn’t _entirely_ innocent. She has some idea of what exactly he means, if not just because of the times she and Ayato had been hunting and found humans that were — indisposed. They had always frustrating to stumble into, because despite their vulnerability neither she or Ayato could get over enough of their embarrassment to go after them.

Those humans had usually been in scant lighting, but she had been able to infer enough from their frenzied motions and gasped encouragements. Given that, and the way Nishio had practically licked his lips at Anteiku, it doesn’t take too much extra imagination to fill in the blanks.

At least, it _shouldn’t_ take too much imagination. Now, however, she suddenly has much more of it than usual, and when Kaneki talks to her it’s all she can do to grunt out responses between vivid images of kissing him again, and embarrassingly strong desires to discover what the rest of his body tastes like.

To her dismay, she’s starting to get distracted even when Kaneki isn’t around.

“Touka!” Yoriko calls one day after class. “Is everything alright?”

“I — huh? Yes,” she says straightening, “of course. Everything’s fine.”

Yoriko leans back in her chair.

“Is everything going alright with... _him_?” she asks, and rather than denying it Touka mumbles, “Yeah, I think. Why?”

“Oh, good,” Yoriko says, and Touka glances over, suspicious of her obvious relief.

“It’s nothing,” Yoriko says hastily, raising a hand and waving it dismissively. “It’s just — I was a little concerned. Touka, you can be sort of hard to read sometimes, you know?”

And when Touka just stares: “For — for example. I always thought it was strange, how you never asked to try my cooking before.”

“That’s not something humans usually do,” Touka argues, and then stiffens. Panic had made her words slip — _humans_ — but Yoriko just laughs.

“Really? Then maybe…maybe it’s because I want to be a chef, I was always kind of waiting for you to ask. Until that day that you finally did try something of mine, I could almost convince myself you didn’t eat food at all. Anyway,” she says, “the point is, maybe you need to be more clear.”

“Kaneki,” Touka says the next day, “maybe you could come over today.”

“Sorry, Touka-chan,” Kaneki says, looking back from the bean grinder, “did you say something? This was too loud —“

“Nothing,” Touka interrupts, too quickly. “Um, it’s nothing.” She pauses. “It’s just —“

But he had started grinding again the moment she paused, and she sighs, her words lost again.

“Hey, Kaneki,” she tries the next day, “want to come over?”

“Oh,” he says, “why?”

 _Why?_ What other reason? It makes sense for him to be an ignoramus when it comes to ghoul-related things, but isn’t this sort of situation something humans have to deal with too? Does he really have to be this clueless _all_ the time?

“I mean,” Touka manages, “Hinami-chan is doing some homework, you know?” She gestures to the cafe table where Hinami is poring over some papers. “So...so she won’t be home for a while.”

“Oh? That’s unfortunate — we haven’t all had dinner together in a while.”

“Oh, well, maybe she’ll be there for dinner, but before then there will be...you know... _hours_...”

“In that case, I hope she’s not out too late, it’s dangerous at night. Maybe we should walk her back.”

She groans and bangs her heating forehead on the espresso machine. How much more clearly does she need to say it? What happened to the chapel, to their sparring, to when it felt like they were two people sharing the same brain?

Her heart gives a panicked judder. Maybe the fact that he isn’t picking up on her means they aren’t sharing anything. Maybe her impression that they had ever been in coordination at all was just that — an impression, an illusion. Maybe he doesn’t have the same sharp twist in the pit of his belly, desperate to claw out and drag him under.

What should she say next? She freezes, like a rabbit caught unawares in a flat clearing. What should she say next?

“Did you maybe,” Kaneki says, “find some kind of new coffee to try?”

“Um — yes! Yes,” Touka answers hastily, loudly, “yes I did, a really nice one!”

“I thought as much,” he says, scratching his chin. After a moment, he smiles. “In that case, I’d love to try some.”

Touka can’t help smiling back at him happily. “Okay!”

On the way home she stops by a grocery and purchases the first fancy-looking roast she sees, something that promises fruity undertones (whatever those are). She’s glad for the excuse that he’s given her, until it becomes obvious that it’s hard to break away from the topic and into conversation about — other things.

“How was Anteiku today?” Touka attempts as she pours out her French press.

“Um, it was fine. Weren’t we there together, Touka-chan?” he asks, amused, and Touka scowls.

“Well, sure, but we could have had totally different experiences. For example,” she mutters, “you weren’t the one trying to teach Nishio how to make foam. Or how to measure out the syrups and tell them apart.”

Kaneki laughs. “That looked annoying. But you know, it was pretty painful for me too.”

“Was it?” Touka says, nervous.

_Dammit. Did he overhear after all?_

Nishio hadn’t been able to make one drink without winking and making jabbing questions like, _Does this taste right yet, Touka-chama? Should I maybe ask Kaneki about it?_

“Yeah,” he says, shoulders bowing in thanks as Touka hands him a cup of coffee. “It must be hard to make drinks but not know what they taste like.”

Oh, is that all he means? _Whew._

Touka sits herself heavily on the couch beside Kaneki, and the seam where their thighs and shoulders touch is too-warm.

“Is it hard for you too?” Touka wonders. “To make drinks, I mean. Now that you don’t know what they taste like either?”

“Well, I might not be able to taste some of the drinks now, but I’ve at least tried most of them before. And I’m familiar with all the ingredients. I guess you could say I have an instinct about it.”

“Instinct,” Touka echoes.

“Yeah. For example, I’d never make the mistake of using cream instead of milk to make a drink,” he says, with a grimace.

Touka sits up. She’s tried all the drinks at Anteiku herself, even little sips of the human versions that contained sugar and all those other ingredients. Anything made with either milk or cream tastes pretty much the same: awful.

“What’s the difference?” Touka asks, with genuine curiosity.

“The difference? Well, cream is kind of rich, and thick. If you drink that much with coffee, you’d probably get sick. And then,” Kaneki continues, looking somewhat ill, “he almost mixed mint syrup with _caramel_...”

“That’s weird too?”

“Yeah. Well — maybe it wouldn’t be. I never tried it myself.” He swirls the coffee around in his cup, then drinks, not saying the obvious: it was something he’d never be able to try again.

Touka leans back, lifting the cup to her mouth but only taking a tiny sip. What would it be like, to not be able to eat the foods you used to eat before?

What had it been like to eat different types of food at all?

“Hey, Kaneki. Did you ever have a favorite dish?”

“A favorite dish? Hmmm…not really. Though I always enjoyed the meals my mother made.”

“Is there anything in particular you miss?”

“No…not really.” He looks up thoughtfully. “I mean…there are a lot of things that I can’t do anymore. But nothing that I really miss.”

“Not even candy?” Touka says, surprised. “Not even _cake?”_

Cake is something she’s always eyed enviously in bakery windows, to Ayato’s confusion and disgust. They always had to hold their sleeves over their noses when the stench of baking permeated the morning air, but something about the neat slices, the jewel-like fruits, the elaborate ornaments perched on the icing…

It always looks so good.

“Cake is alright,” he laughs. “I can’t say that I miss it. Anyway, Touka-chan…” He drinks again, gulps audible, then sets down the empty cup. “Isn’t it true for both ghouls and humans that the important thing about eating isn’t the food?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I mean, when you’re sitting down to a meal, the important thing isn’t what you’re eating, but who you’re eating it with. As far as I’m concerned, cake isn’t a match for being able to eat dinner with you once in a while. And Hinami-chan, too.”

_Cake isn’t a match for being able to eat dinner with you._

With a start, she realizes that she hasn’t shared a meal — _really_ shared a meal — with anyone in a long time. In fact, since her parting with Ayato, there hasn’t been anyone. Until Kaneki.

For the hundredth time that day, her stomach turns — but this time there’s more pain than pleasure. It _is_ nice to have people around to eat with, but how long do they ever stay? Her father is gone; Ayato is gone. How long until Kaneki follows?

Her heart shakes again. After all, hasn’t Kaneki already pulled away from her — at their last sparring session? Even though it was his damn idea in the first place, he hasn’t brought it up since then. All he does is throw around those infuriating, kind smiles — and those infuriating, kind words —

_I’ve had enough._

Kaneki starts to stand and she lunges and grabs his arm.

“Touka-chan?”

They blink at each other, both surprised. Touka starts to loosen her grip, then reevaluates and tightens it instead. Her face tightens, eyes and mouth narrow.

“I was just going to bring this to the sink,” Kaneki explains, holding up the cup, and Touka snaps, _”Stop._ ”

He grimaces in confusion. “Stop...bringing this...to the sink?”

“No, _stop_ that nervous laugh you were about to make. I’ve been listening to that shitty fake laugh of yours all day, and I’m fucking sick of it! It’s annoying as hell! Quit it already!”

The corners of Kaneki’s mouth pull apart like he’s about try the laugh again, but at a glare from her — _Try it, just try it_ — he purses his lips firmly into an awkward line.

“Are you alright, Touka-chan?” he asks, attempting to suppress an uneasy smile, and Touka narrows her eyes.

“And there you go again, with the _’Are you okay, are you okay.’_ As if you care so much. What about you, Kaneki? Are _you_ okay?”

“I — um — of course I —“

“Yeah, yeah, _’of course’_. Of course that would be the answer. So you’re totally fine, Kaneki? Even after what happened” — her grip constricts — “the other day?”

There it is — his facade cracking, just a little, as the smile tips sideways from his face.

“Yeah,” he says. “Even after that.”

He is serious. No smile, no laugh. Somehow it makes her angrier.

“Then why did you stop?” she demands. “And why haven’t you said anything? I’ve been — this whole time I’ve been —“

Dreaming, consumed, obsessed. Spending all her minutes awake with that taste on her tongue, and the desire for more.

“Why did you do it?” she asks, furious. “Why did you let me taste you? Why did you even bother?” And, when he is silent: “Dammit, stupid Kaneki, why didn’t you just save everyone the trouble and let yourself fucking die there?”

“Because,” he says finally, quietly, “you would have been sad, right?”

“Wh...what?”

“You,” he repeats, “might have been kind of sad. Right? If I had...if something had happened. I mean...it would have been a waste of all the time you spent training me, right?”

“Yeah,” she finds herself agreeing, with a tight throat. “A huge waste.”

“Right. And...it would have been very troublesome...for both of us to have gone all that way just to be eaten. At the very least, Touka-chan, you should have made it out.”

She snorts. “What kind of a stupid answer...” As she looks away her hand slides down his sleeve, so that her pinky rests just outside his cuff, on bare skin.

Even in a moment like this, with her berating him, how can he go on and on about how _she_ feels?

Her stomach gives a disgruntled murmur, and without warning, twists — gives off an ache almost as powerful as the one in her chest.

“You stopped, before,” she says, and this time there’s no need to elaborate: by how he looks away she knows that he understands she’s talking about their last sparring session.

“I...” he starts, and trails off. She doesn’t pursue. There are a lot of reasons why he might have done it — fear, apprehension, bad timing, bad location. Knowing Kaneki, whatever he’d tell her anyway would be...what did Yoriko say sometimes? ...Sugarcoated.

There’s just one thing she needs to know.

“Will you stop again?” she asks, taking his hand in both of hers and turning it over. She waits, and waits.

“No,” he says, and it is so quiet she can be convinced she’s imagining it, except for the fact that when she presses her fingers into his wrist, his pulse is hot, fast, simmering.

If he won’t stop her, then she won’t hold back. She inhales and this time when his scent fills her she follows it, eyes closed, to his mouth. When she tastes him again, all the hunger that’s been gathering in the pit of her belly for the past days surges, and she releases his hands to grab either side of his face, holding it against hers. She runs her tongue across his top and bottom lip with a sigh of relief, and pleasure. There it is, that flavor, that —

He yelps, muffled, and loses balance — falls back — she lands heavily on top of him, and registers dimly the sound of something shattering. Only Kaneki’s cringe makes her sit up and crane over. She takes a breath, and feels the muscles in her eyes tighten.

“Let me see,” she hisses, and he holds up his hand, less to show her and more to get a good look at it himself. The cup that he was holding had shattered, and there are tiny porcelain shards sticking out from the side of his hand. He’s propped on his elbows, and with some difficulty he reaches across to pluck the pieces out.

“Let me,” she says, and grabs his wrist. Some swift motions are all it takes to remove the fragments, which she flings aside. She brings his hand close to her face as if in examination.

“It’s alright,” he starts reassuringly, “it’ll heal in —“

But before he can finish, she closes her mouth on his hand. She sucks, careful, and as in the chapel, the taste of him is sharp and sun-bright and electric. She drinks thirstily, swallowing and swallowing until the wounds close and all that is left is to run her tongue across the creases of his hands to consume the lingering smears.

When it is all gone, her breath is ragged, and all her cells feel alight. She opens her eyes and by the blur in her vision she knows they’ve sloughed their human colors. When she takes her next breath her body shudders and it takes a disturbing amount of effort to prevent herself from sinking her teeth into him.

Her hunger sings. _More! More, more —_

It is an entirely different hunger than usual — and more demanding, somehow, than any she has ever felt, even in the throes of starvation. She exhales shakily, not knowing how to proceed until Kaneki starts to undo the tie of his uniform, the buttons of his shirt, and pulls back the fabric to show his neck, as unblemished and soft as icing. Not needing further invitation, she leans down, licking her lips. His pulse is fast and strong and luscious and if she bit down she could be full in minutes, in moments —

She opens her mouth and presses it against him. He shivers, but she leaves nothing but a faintly gleaming kiss — and then another, on the center slope of his throat — and another, on the bump of his collarbone. After a day’s worth of work, his body gives off whiffs of coffee, and her fingers curl around his vest and shirt and pull, ripping the buttons. They snap and rattle as they roll across the floor.

She descends again, shameless, suckling at his skin: the patch above his drumming heart (that in her ghoul-tinted vision is as quaky as pudding); the crescent of the left half of his ribcage (as smooth a curve as any she’s seen on slices of swiss roll cake); the muscles of his stomach (their sections just barely defined, and as pliant as the top of melon bread — will he ever get stronger? Probably not, but she wouldn’t want to trade his succulence for something like that anyway). His body bobs up and down as he squirms, and she puts her hands on either side of his waist, keeping him still. She nibbles the protrusions of his hipbones, then the little konpeito bumps of gooseflesh.

_More._

Touka has her own instincts, though they don’t have anything to do with milk and cream. She’s kissed her way lower and lower, and the way she’s lying now she can feel his legs shaking against both shoulders, can feel him getting harder against her chest. She wets her lips, and as she works at the clasp of his pants, Kaneki gasps.

“T-Touka-chan —“

She stops, looks up at him. The hair that falls over her face sways forward and back with her ragged breath and she shoves it out of the way impatiently, staring him down with both eyes. She feels the veins in her face swell, and she blinks, trying ineffectually to lessen the pressure.

“What?” she asks, panicked. She could have sworn this was right — it _feels_ so right — but maybe she’s made some mistake. Maybe — she have just asked Nishio for advice after all — that would have been a huge blow to her pride, but wouldn’t be as bad as messing something up with Kaneki so bad that he’d just toss her off and — _leave_ —

But though Kaneki’s face is flushed, his expression isn’t mad. It’s not even horrified. He puts a hand over his mouth.

 _”What?”_ she demands.

“N-nothing,” he stammers. “I mean, not nothing — I mean — I was just — calling, is all — “

“No?” she asks, “do you mean _no_?” and he stammers, “N-no! I mean — _yes,_ I mean y-yes.”

She blinks. One of his eyes has blackened, and red is spreading out in crooked lines almost to his brow; she quickly helps him out of his shirt and vest, just in time to avoid both being shredded by the emergence of his kagune. They’re thinner than usual, and short, and as she folds back the opening of his pants they shudder and writhe into trembling spirals.

She eases his cock out of his underwear and is glad that Kaneki can’t tell how shamelessly her mouth is watering. He smells tantalizing, more so than any other human — has she been missing out, with her usual method of consumption? But no — it’s more than just his smell, his taste. It’s the way both his ghoul and human eyes are looking down at her with desperateness that matches hers, the way that she knows exactly what he is thinking because it’s what she’s thinking too. It’s the way she knows him deeper than all his sweet words.

_I won’t let you feel alone._

She sets her elbows on his thighs and rests her weight down, spreading his legs out. She leans forward and drags the tip of her tongue along his cock, starting from the base, slow. She’s surprised by the heat of it, and by the strangled whimper Kaneki makes when her tongue curves around its head. There’s a bead of fluid at its tip that she sweeps up with the end of her tongue, and she swallows, trying to keep her heart from racing as Kaneki squirms beneath her and gets even harder.

_So good —_

She opens her mouth again and closes it over his cock entirely, giving it a little suckle, then pushing it further into her mouth, more experimental than anything. How far can she take it? He twitches against the back of her throat, and she withdraws quickly, with a cough.

“Sor —“ Kaneki starts, but his words deflate as she covers his cock again, lips pursed at its top tongue circling. It’s tough to take him all in, but alternatives are easy enough to find. She circles her hand around his cock, pumping up and down, gently, not sure if she’s overdoing it. Somehow he is getting even harder, but not any wetter; impatiently, her hand gives a twist as it rises next, and Kaneki jerks, and she swallows again. He’s so wet now that her hand makes slick noises as it runs up and down the length of him, and something about the sound makes her belly feel fuzzy.

“T-Touka,” he gasps, and she looks up again, startled.

 _Touka_.

“I — I’m sorry, but I’ll probably — soon —“

“What are you sorry about it for?” she murmurs, brow furrowing. “You weirdo. What do you think the point of all this is? I just “ — her hand tightens, slides up, down — “want you” — up, down — “to feel —“

 _”Touka_ ,” he moans, with a new urgency, and she takes his cock into her mouth again, just in time. He comes, his whole body contracting, his legs squeezing her in time with bursts that she swallows eagerly. He sits up, fingers threshing her hair, and she gasps, the last mouthfuls dribbling past her lips.

She continues licking and squeezing, working out his last spasms, until he collapses back against her table, chest heaving.

“You don’t have to…” he starts, but she ignores him and resumes lapping up what come had spilled over. Once she’s done, she licks her lips again and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, sitting up with a wince. Her back aches, a little.

But finally — _finally_ — the hunger at the pit of her stomach is gone.

…right? Gone?

It certainly isn’t sharp and piercing anymore, but now it feels...unusually _soft_. She frowns to herself, holding her belly, and surveys him.

“Good job,” she says finally.

“Wh — huh? Good...what...?” he gasps in confusion, and she reaches out and touches one of his twitching rinkaku.

“Keeping these in control,” she says. Her floor and all the furniture seem unscathed, and given the ferocity of his particular kagune, it’s pretty impressive.

He laughs. For once, it’s not guarded or defensive — it bursts, it escapes like a wild creature.

“Are you training me even _now_?”

She purses her lips, feels herself blush.

“So what? Of course I’ll tell you whenever you do something good! No matter how infrequently it happens.”

“Is that so.” He considers, then says, “Thanks,” and she huffs.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. It’s not like those useless books you read can ever praise you, so you might as well hear it from _someone._ You — you owe me, though, you know!”

“Oh…I do?” He rubs his chin. “But what could I…”

“How am I supposed to know? It’s up to you.” She sits back, and when her stomach grumbles _again_ , she growls to herself. Come _on._ What else can she possibly want?

“Y-you know, Touka-chan,” Kaneki says quietly, “books aren’t...um...all that useless. Actually, since the last time we sparred, I was trying to...to prepare, and...and I wonder...if it would be okay for me to, um, show you something too once in a while.”

“Like any of your books can teach me anything,” she says, eyes rolling, and doesn’t even bother looking at him until she feels something warm around her wrist.

It’s his kagune. He tugs her, gently, so her back rests against the couch. He comes a little closer on his knees, hesitant, until the inside of her thigh touches his leg. She sucks in a breath and out of the corner of her eye sees her wing flicker.

“O-okay,” she murmurs. “I guess you owe me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ a third chapter, by popular demand ////  
> \+ blood cw blood cw blood cw  
> \+ nsfw nsfw nsfw  
> \+ blushes furiously

“Um, yeah,” he agrees. “I...I owe you a lot.”

:::

_It’s a stupid idea, probably. He’s barely sure that it’ll work, much less if she’ll stoop to it._

_But it doesn’t even take words to communicate it. All it takes it a gaze, a finger hooked on his shirt collar — and then her dimming gaze lights, with a flash of crimson. She crawls toward him, presses her body against his, opens her mouth and setts it to the base of his throat. Her tongue laves his skin for an instant, and then her teeth sink in._

_He spasms, and her arms hold him tighter as she gulps. One hand splays, fingers giving him a brief pat, as if to say,_ Bear the pain just a little more.

 _But he’d prepared for pain. What he_ isn’t _prepared for is how his head feels suddenly lighter. How his breath is suddenly shallower. How loud her mouth is against his skin, and how hot._

_The moments stretch into an eternity, and even then are cut too short. She rises, too rushed to even wipe her mouth. He glitters on her lips, and on the roil that are her wings, seething with renewal._

_He is stunned._

_Afterward, it’s Nishio’s girlfriend that finds the words that he couldn’t release, even when they were swelling in his chest._

How beautiful.

:::

His kagune wither as his apprehension grows. Kaneki had done a little research — hiding his furious blush in the magazine aisle of a bookstore — but there’s something different about having the real thing sitting in front of him, on the floor beside her couch.

And Touka is so _real_. She licks the lips that had been on him just minutes prior. She had wanted something, and got it.

Things had never been that simple for him.

But.

She provides a good model to follow.

“W-well?” she says, and he raises a finger to her scowl. He traces it, gently, from corner to corner. Her lips purse.

“You’re a shitty teach —” she starts, and is interrupted when he slips a finger into her mouth, right between her syllables and teeth.

Her brows are furrowed, wary, as he presses the pad of his finger carefully against the top and bottom of her left canine. Her jaw slackens, giving him a fair view of all her teeth, which — for all that she’s a ghoul — look just like any other human’s teeth.

Save for the fact, of course, that she is not any other human. She’s _Touka_.

And she’s getting impatient. She brings her teeth down firmly on the top and bottom of his finger, narrowing her eyes. Her demand is silent, and obvious. _What is it?_

“Did you like the way I taste?” he asks. He says it before realizing how embarrassing it sounds, and that’s the only reason that he doesn’t blush when she does.

He does feels the heat rise on his face, though, when she gives the slightest nod. Her eyes shift away, left and down.

He traces the ridges of her teeth, from the molars forward, one by one, searching. Touka still seems bewildered when he worries the tip of his finger against her sharpest tooth, and tears his skin.

She gasps, and then her mouth shuts and sucks as he presses his finger against the warm, wet curl of her tongue. He feels her whole body shudder, and his own follows, entranced by the greedy, wet undulation of her mouth on his finger.

The way she’d looked at him earlier — as if she could see beneath his skin and clothing, beneath even the layers of his persona. Somehow, she’d glimpsed some part of him whose existence he never shared with anyone.

And she had _wanted_ it.

His belly, his chest aches. Well, he wants something too.

He is kneeling in front of her. As he leans forward, her legs part around him, and he puts a hand on one bent knee. He doesn’t trust his voice to get past his shaking throat, so he leans in close to her ear.

“You don’t want me to stop, right?” Kaneki whispers. She sighs in response, and the vibration of her slight groan makes his chest clench. Still, he waits for the shake of her head to become palpable (and impatient) before reaching any higher. He pulls his hand back from her mouth (already healed anyway), and undoes the clasp of her uniform slacks, one hand trailing her saliva on the fabric. He hooks his fingers on them, and her underwear, and she lifts her legs straight up so he can pull her clothing off. He starts to fold them and stops when Touka mutters, “ _Really?_ ”

He coughs and leaves them, returning to face her again.

“Didn’t I say not to stop?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, setting his hands on the top of her thighs. She looks away, with a huff.

“So much for —”

Her words crumple into a gasp as his thumb brushes her clit. She jumps, her legs springing apart impulsively, and he slips his hands beneath her ass. There’s nothing said, but she obeys, moving up to sit on her couch. She allows him to maneuver one still-socked foot onto his shoulder.

Kaneki isn’t sure if it’s the ghoul half of him that’s responsible, but he’s sure that he can smell her. Touka has an intoxicating, heady fragrance that reminds him of what wine used to smell like, and the smell only becomes heavier as he licks the broad part of his thumb and returns to rubbing her. He does it lightly, slowly massaging the skin to the left and right of her clit, and then beneath it, pleased to see her relaxing. When he brings his thumb back to his mouth to re-moisten it, he’s startled to taste something else.

It’s her; she’s getting slick.

And, he realizes, she is _delicious_.

“What now,” she asks quietly, and he rubs his chin and clears his throat.

“U-um, n-n-nothing.”

Nothing except that he suddenly feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin. _I want more,_ he thinks frantically. He curves his hand over his mouth. He fights to control his breath, horrified by how much he _wants_ , how hungry he is suddenly, and how hard it is to maintain composure, to stop himself from losing it.

But Touka knows. How does she always know? She looks away and her face is red all the way down to her chin. She spreads her legs, one hand reaching down to part her own lips to display.

And that does it.

He uncovers his mouth, places his hands instead on the luscious softness of her thighs, sets his thumbs on either side of her sex, opening her further to him. He drags the tip of his tongue from the bottom of her slit, tracing gently up one lip and down the other, relishing not just his light sample but also her accompanying gasp. He sticks his tongue out further and presses the flat of it against her, covering her sex completely with a broad, slow lick that terminates just beneath her clit. He licks again...again...again...and she gets even wetter, even more trembly, even more delectable. He pushes harder against her thighs to keep them parted as she writhes.

 _“Kane_ —” she gasps, and that’s the cue; before she can even finish he circles his lips around her clit, and gives it a brief suck. Her words dissolve into a very un-Touka-like whimper. But the fierce threshing of her hands through his hair, and the harsh yank to push him back onto her clit when he leaves it — _that_ is all her.

She is so delicious. He alternates suckling her clit and swirling his tongue around it, and the whines she makes are somehow just as good. He’s permeated with the flavor of her, the sound, and now the pressure too, as he begins to slide his tongue into her sex, as far as possible, lapping her inner walls. He feels them yield and squeeze tremulously around him.

But he’s lost his grip on her and her thighs are squeezing his face, hard. He pulls back, releasing himself with a wet, squelching noise that is embarrassingly loud. He’s breathless, his cheeks are shining with her, but she doesn’t let him withdraw, doesn’t let him far enough to breathe any air that isn’t saturated with the perfume of her. Her nails rake his scalp, keeping him, and with a helpless groan he dives against her again, this time bracing her leg with his whole forearm to keep her exposed. This new pose keeps his hand free and as he purses his lips on her clit he flicks two fingers up and down on her folds, and then inside them.

Touka bucks, arches, gives a loud moan. He pushes his fingers further inside her, and then adds a third, which definitely makes her grip hard enough for him to lose a couple hairs. He begins pumping his fingers in and out, unable to stop himself now from giving wide, thirsty licks to her clit and the top of her folds. He feels her hips rise against him, and matches her rhythm, quickening with her, faster, faster, until she abruptly cries out. Her whole body tenses, and then quakes; he continues pushing and licking through it, releasing one helpless groan at her incredible heat. He doesn’t stop until her heel digs warningly into his forehead, and then he only slows, gently lapping up her wetness. He withdraws his fingers and cleans each of those too, shameless. For now.

She’s lying on her side on the couch, panting, eyes hooded and hazy. This time when their gazes cross, the flush that rises on both their faces isn’t from embarrassment. He surveys the goosebumps on her legs, and her hair, so disheveled that he can see the eye that’s normally covered by her bangs.

He laughs.

“What?” she asks, voice hoarse. She kicks him, weakly, when he doesn’t give an immediate answer. “ _What?_ ”

“How beautiful,” he says.

This time the kick is a real one, but he catches it, kisses the jutting bone of her ankle. Touka coughs.

“Don’t — don’t think that this one time makes up for all the trouble I’ve gone through training you,” she manages. “You still owe me a lot.”

He just laughs again, lightly. “Alright. Yeah, of course.”

His mouth is starting to water again, just thinking of it.

There are a lot of things he’s had to leave behind with his human life — most of it food. But he is sure, now, definitely, that none of it was ever as sweet as she is.


End file.
